


The Exiled Queen in the Tower

by miyukijane



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyukijane/pseuds/miyukijane
Summary: A short story that imagines what happens to Anora after the Landsmeet...





	The Exiled Queen in the Tower

How could it be that she had lost? And to that fool who would be king, of all people. How could she have misjudged her opponent so utterly?

Pride. It would forever be her downfall. She had believed, naively she saw now, that she would win because she was smarter, more competent, and better equipped than any other contender.

Including her father. Teyrn Loghain had been a great man, but ultimately he had been too impatient to play the long game of politics. She would learn from his mistakes. She would wait, and bide her time, preparing for the day when the throne would be hers.

As it should have been in the first place.

The Cousland woman came to visit her, once, on the eve of battle. She looked exhausted, eyes bleared and ringed with dark circles. "I, too, have lost a father," she said in that quiet, posh voice of hers. Something about the woman never failed to remind Anora of her origins. The Couslands had ruled Highever for eight centuries; Anora was the daughter of a peasant. The Cousland woman never let her forget it.

Anora said nothing. She could wait. She'd spent her entire life waiting for the right moment. It would come again, she knew.

"I'm sorry about Loghain, Anora." The Warden looked down at her hands. "I wish it hadn't turned out that way."

"You could have stopped him." The words escaped her before she could check them. The Warden had stood by while the boy-king had run his sword through the greatest general Ferelden had ever seen. 

The Cousland woman sighed, ran a battle-scarred hand through her tangled hair. "I don't know that I could have. You didn't see the look in his eyes." She turned her sad eyes away. "For what's it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't try harder."

Anora sat still, silently shaking with suppressed fury and a grief that she would never indulge in. Certainly not in front of _her_.

"Please, give Alistair a chance." The Warden's voice was so seductive. Is this how she always got her way? With that smooth, soft voice? "He'll be a good king."

Anora had to laugh at this. "He has no idea what it takes to rule. It takes more than looking handsome in armor and waving a sword around. Cailin was proof of that. Do you have any idea how many mistakes of his I had to clean up?"

"Is that why your father had him killed?"

Anora smiled at this childish flash of anger. So, the Warden was not the perfect little soldier.

"I'm sorry," the Warden said in a soft voice. "That was... unworthy." She exhaled slowly. "Tomorrow I go to battle. There is a very good chance that I will die. If I do, then Alistair will be alone. You could do a great deal of good in Ferelden as his ally. The kingdom needs you. If you'd only swear fealty to him…"

"You ask too much, Warden. I will never swear loyalty to a murderer and usurper."

The Warden looked as though she would like to say more, but only shrugged and turned away. "Good bye, Anora."

###

She supposed, by the sounds of the cheering outside of her window, that the Wardens had been victorious. But now came the real battle.

One night she had a dream about her father. A memory. "Remember, Anora: 'nobility' is more than just a word. We must never lose sight of our true purpose: we are caretakers of power. We use our gifts to defend and enrich the nation."

She nodded. This was a familiar lesson.

"The legitimacy of a ruler stems from what he does, not who he is. Honor is the only thing that separates a monarch from a tyrant."

"When I'm queen," she said, "I will be good to everyone."

"You will be good to those who deserve your consideration," her father said. "And you will be ruthless to your enemies."

She awoke. Her pillow was damp with tears. Honor. In the end, her father had forgotten what that meant, and paid a heavy price. She would not. She dare not.

She owed her father that much. And Anora always paid her debts.

She was treated well, all things considered. Her rooms at the tower were comfortable. She had access to books and fresh water for bathing. A maid had been assigned to her, and elderly elven woman of few words. That suited Anora very well. She did not care for meaningless talk.

The king did not come to visit. Nor did the Cousland woman make a second appearance.

###

She was beginning to wonder if they'd forgotten about her. It had been weeks. Months, perhaps. She had lost weight. Her gowns were looser around her hips and bosom.

Then one evening, after dinner, a knock.

"Enter," she said. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange in her ears.

The key rattled in the door, and two guards stepped through. Behind them, the king.

For a fleeting moment she saw Cailin's eyes and his jawline and her breath caught. Then he ducked his head in that almost apologetic way of his and the illusion was gone.

He was dressed casually, in a simple tunic and trousers. No sign of a royal insignia.

"Hello, Anora," he said awkwardly. He looked around the room. "It's nicer than I thought here. Cozy." He waved his guards out of the room.

She said nothing. Let him babble on. She looked out of the window, bored.

"Elissa thought I should come see you. For an evaluation, she said. You see, we're trying to figure out what to do with you."

"Ah, so it has finally come to your attention that I am being held here unlawfully?" Her words grated in her throat. Oh, he would pay. He would pay for the way he'd treated her. She'd waited too long not to exact what was due to her. 

"Well, here's the thing. Arl Eamon — he's the Chancellor now, you know — thinks that we should probably execute you. Elissa doesn't want to kill you, but she doesn't want to let you out of prison, either. She thinks you'll always try to have a go at the throne. And she's still pretty angry that you sold us out to Ser Cauthrien."

"And what do you think, your Majesty?" She struggled to remain calm. This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. She had to play it correctly. She'd become quite deft at manipulating Cailin — surely this brother was as easily led. Look how quickly he followed the Cousland woman. These dull Theirin lads needed the strong guiding hand of a woman. Her heart pounded, but she would not let him see the hope that flared inside her.

"Well, I just don't know what to think." He sat down at her desk and ran a hand through his hair. "You're a royal thorn in my side, Anora. On the other hand, you _are_ my sister-in-law. I don't like the idea of killing you or keeping you locked up."

 _You had no problem murdering my father_. She managed to clamp her lips down on those words.

Instead, she thought. There must a way out of this. "If I agree to sign a document saying that I will not seek the throne while you and the Princess-Consort are living, could we come to an agreement? I confess I am weary of my imprisonment." She was careful in her phrasing.

"I don't know. Can I trust you to keep your word?"

"There is nothing more for me," she said, bitterly. That was true. "Why would I seek the throne now? It would be a hollow victory. My husband and my father are dead. I have no allies, no supporters. Let me go home to Gwaren."

"And what would you do in Gwaren?"

"Rebuild. The country has been decimated. I would take an active part in restoring our nation. In spite of our differences, your Majesty, I think you've always known that we share one thing in common: that we hold the safety of Ferelden first, above all other concerns."

He looked thoughtful. His slow brain was no doubt mulling over her words. Let him believe. Time to work on his fatal flaw. "Please, Alistair," she said in a low tone, consciously approximating the voice of the Cousland. "I beg you. This-" she indicated the room, the small window, the cracked flagstones "- is no life at all. I would rather you kill me than keep me prisoner." She stood and looked him in the face. "I swear that if you let me return to Gwaren, I will work with you to ensure what is best for our country." And that would include getting you off the throne as quickly as possible, incompetent buffoon.

"All right."

She started. Had she heard him correctly? She hadn't expected it to be so easy. Her first reaction was suspicion. "You'll let me go?"

His eyebrows drew together. "Yes, I suppose so, if you promise not to make trouble. You can go back to Gwaren. You can even be teyrna. I'll give you back your lands and title." He sighed. "It's easier than finding someone else to give it to, at any rate."

"At what price? What would you have me sign?"

"Just what you said. Don't seek the throne while Elissa and I are alive. Or any Theirin heirs we may have. You won't be a Theirin anymore, either. You'll return to being a Mac Tir, Teryna of Gwaren. That said, I think we'd better keep you in the succession. If Elissa and I die without leaving an heir, then I can't think of anyone better to take care of Ferelden."

The shock gave way to relief, and then to unadulterated gleeful triumph. The fool was giving her everything on a silver platter. She kept her voice humble and bowed her head to hide her smile. "Thank you, your Majesty."

He nodded. "I'll have the papers drawn up tomorrow. Well, I'd better be off." He strode to the door, and turned. "You were wrong, though."

She looked up sharply.

"Elissa comes first, you know. Before everything. Before Ferelden." His smile was crooked, wry. "So, I suppose you would have made a better ruler than me, after all."

She was silent for a moment. "I would have had you killed."

The words hung in the air between them. But he only grinned at her. "I know." He inclined his head and left.

Her triumph deflated in an instant.

What had he done? Maker curse him. Maker curse his mercy and generosity that left her in his debt, forever.

She could forget a good many things, but not that. Every honorable bone in her body recoiled at the idea of betraying his clemency. She owed him her life.

Blast the idiot man, he had out-maneuvered her once again.


End file.
